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This episode of Against the Odds contains depictions of violence. Please be advised. It's the evening of July 29th, 1945. Almost midnight in the middle of the Philippine Sea. Fireman 2nd Class Adolfo Harpo Celaya walks across the main deck of the Navy cruiser USS Indianapolis, dragging a wool blanket behind him. He's looking for a place to get some sleep in the open air before his 4 a.m. watch.
Below deck, the tropical heat of the western Pacific Ocean has turned the crew's sleeping quarters into saunas. Earlier, the full moon disappeared behind heavy cloud cover, and it's now pitch black. Next to Harpo, his crew chief Max Thorpe peers into the darkness. Looks like everyone else had the same idea we did. Harpo looks around and sighs.
Thorpe is right. Every inch of the deck seems to be covered by sweaty, snoring men. Maybe we'll have better luck on the quarterdeck? Harpo and Thorpe climb a steel staircase in search of open space. Indianapolis is far from the biggest ship in the US fleet, but it's still huge. Indy, as everyone calls her, is over 600 feet long and carries a crew of almost 1,200 men.
For most of the past four years, she's been at sea, serving as the flagship for America's Pacific Fleet in World War II. She's fought in numerous battles, most recently at Okinawa, where she suffered heavy damage from a Japanese kamikaze fighter pilot. The attack killed nine men, and Harpo narrowly avoided being one of them. Now, Indy is traveling west across the Philippine Sea, en route to some training exercises.
Harpo, hey, found a spot. Thorpe stands over an open patch of deck, just big enough for two people to lie down. Harpo spreads out his blanket and sits. Thorpe watches him, chuckling. Why'd you bring that blanket? It's almost as hot up here as it is below deck. I can't sleep without it. It goes back to when I was a kid. And if you tease me about it, I might have to kill you.
Thorpe keeps laughing, but Harpo doesn't care. He grew up in Arizona, where the mosquitoes will bite you all through the night, so a blanket was always a safety precaution. He smiles to himself, recalling those days not so long ago when his biggest fear was insects, not guns or torpedoes or kamikaze planes flying right at you.
They snack on a couple of sandwiches. Then Thorpe falls asleep almost immediately, joining the chorus of snoring men. Harpo feels like he's the only one awake. It's not a new sensation for him, feeling apart from the crew. He's one of only a few Hispanics on board. Even after serving on Indy for a year, he still doesn't feel like he fits in.
Suddenly, the entire deck shakes violently. Harpo feels himself get thrown two feet into the air. And before he even lands, the ship shakes for a second time. Then there's a flash of light, and a blast of hot air rushes over him.
It takes Harpo a second to realize it's a fireball. Next to him, he hears Thor crying out in pain. All around him, men are screaming, shouting orders, shouting each other's names. It's chaos. Harpo reaches down and realizes his blanket is gone, incinerated in the fireball. His hair is gone too, but the rest of him is unharmed, saved by his blanket.
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In the final weeks of World War II, USS Indianapolis, a heavy cruiser with 1,195 men on board, was attacked by a Japanese submarine in the Philippine Sea. Two torpedoes struck and within minutes, the ship went down. After the sinking, about 900 survivors were stranded in the open ocean.
For four days and five nights, they endured brutal weather, rough seas, dehydration, saltwater poisoning, violence, madness, and shark attacks. This is the story of the men who survived the worst disaster at sea in U.S. naval history. This is Episode 1, Abandoned Ship.
Lieutenant Commander Lewis Haynes floats in the water. It's June 17th, 1945. A beautiful day, sunny, warm, but not too hot. As Haynes floats, he feels at peace for the first time in months. But suddenly, that peace is ripped away from him. He's under attack.
He looks up and sees his attackers. It's his two young sons. You're asking for it, boys. He splashes water back at them. After seeing years of combat as a naval medical officer, this is the kind of water fight he can get behind with his kids on a serene lake near his home in Connecticut.
He glances over at the beach, where his wife, Elizabeth, sits holding a book and laughing at their antics. She's five months pregnant with her third child. Haynes didn't realize how much he missed her until he got back home a week ago. He tells his sons that he'll be right back and walks out of the water to sit next to her. He's surprised to see a look of concern on her face. "'Lou, are you okay? What do you mean? You're not yourself.' "'She's right.'
Haynes is normally a happy-go-lucky guy, always talking and laughing. But despite his cheerful demeanor, today he doesn't feel much like talking. Tomorrow he has to return to his job as chief physician on the USS Indianapolis. And he's not looking forward to it. A month ago, Indy was hit by a Japanese kamikaze fighter pilot. Nine men died in the attack.
Haynes was the one responsible for identifying the charred remains. He's seen a lot of horrors during the war, but for some reason, he's still haunted by the sight of those bodies. With Indy dry docked in San Francisco for repairs, Haynes took this opportunity to visit his family. It's the first time he's seen them in months, and it hasn't been long enough. Just the thought of getting on that train back to California puts a lump in his throat. His wife puts her hand on his shoulder.
"I know something happened, Lou. I know you can't give me the specifics, but at least tell me I'm not wrong." Haynes nods. He wishes he could tell her something, but it's against protocol. And besides, he's not sure what he'd say. There are no words for some of the things he's seen. So, he just sits, holding his wife's hand, watching his children splash in the water, silently praying that this long war is finally almost over.
Captain Charles McVeigh walks through the boiler room of Indy, inspecting the latest repairs. All around him, the ship echoes with the sounds of pipe fitters, electricians, coppersmiths, and other workers hammering, welding, and cutting, completing their last-minute repairs so Indy can return to service.
Yesterday, July 13th, McVeigh received orders to recall his men to the Mare Island shipyard, just across the bay from San Francisco, where Indy has spent the last two months. They have to ship out in a few days for a top-secret mission. Since getting the order, he's spent all of his waking hours on board, doing inspections and checking in with his men. Some have been newly assigned, and he wants to make sure they're prepared for what lies ahead.
McVeigh loves what he does. His father, Charles McVeigh Jr., was a Navy man who rose to the rank of admiral, and McVeigh III is proud to follow in his footsteps. But it's a lot to live up to. The elder McVeigh oversaw the Navy's entire Asiatic fleet in the 30s. He also had a reputation for being short-tempered and demanding, and his son has tried to lead in a different manner.
He spends hours talking to enlisted men and junior officers, letting them know that their work is valued. As McVeigh is leaving the boiler room, a petty officer runs up to him and salutes. McVeigh flashes him a kindly smile. "At ease, son. What do you have for me?" "Your wife says it's time for dinner, sir." McVeigh looks at his watch. Damn it. It's six o'clock and he's already thirty minutes late. He thanks the officer and excuses himself.
Minutes later, McVeigh arrives at the small steel hut at the edge of the base that's been his home for the past two months. Inside, his wife Louise sits patiently at the small kitchen table. A meal of spaghetti set out in front of her. I'm sorry, Louise. I really am. McVeigh feels bad not only because he's late, but because this meal marks the end of their honeymoon. If you can call living on a naval base a honeymoon.
McVeigh was given command of Indy just a few months after he and Louise got married in the summer of 1944. So, they spent most of their marriage apart. As soon as McVeigh was given the order to bring Indy back to San Francisco, he invited Louise to join him. It could be like the honeymoon they didn't get to have before he shipped out. Louise doesn't look disappointed, just resigned.
I knew what I was getting myself into. But all that I ask is that tonight we don't think about your orders or anything about Indy. Let's just enjoy ourselves, okay? McVeigh smiles at her. He's glad she understands who he is, how determined he is to make a name for himself. It's one of the reasons why he loves her. Before he sits down to his cold spaghetti, McVeigh holds his arms out and beckons his wife to join him.
He takes her in his arms and they begin swaying to the music. I'm gonna miss you, Louise. Just promise me you'll be careful out there, always. As they dance, McVeigh stops thinking about Indy and focuses on one simple thing. How much he loves this woman and wishes that this moment would never end. Baby, will you show me?
Harpo Salaya walks with a dozen fellow sailors towards Indy. It's early in the morning of July 14th, and he needs sleep. They've been out all night, taking advantage of their last night of freedom. Some of the other sailors are still drunk from bar hopping. But not Harpo. He's still 18 and stayed outside most of the time.
Some places wouldn't let him in because of his age, and one place wouldn't because he looked Mexican, which by descent he is, but his family has lived in Arizona for four generations. He's as American as anyone on Indy, even though some of the other sailors don't treat him that way. As they approach Indy, Harpo looks up at the ship. He's been serving on Indy for over a year, but the sight of her still blows him away.
She's such a sleek, powerful-looking ship. Her biggest guns can punch through the toughest armor or hit a beach 18 miles away. Harpo witnessed her raw power firsthand during the attack on the Japanese island of Iwo Jima five months ago. Over the course of that bloody invasion, Indy pummeled the island's beaches, clearing the way for landing marines. Harpo thought there was nothing Indy couldn't do.
But on March 31st, that changed. That was the day a Japanese kamikaze pilot rammed his plane into Indy's stern. One of the plane's bombs ripped through several decks before exploding. Harpo can still feel the way Indy lurched and listed as the bomb tore a hole in her. He can still hear the screams of the wounded and the dying. Harpo stops walking. For a moment, he has a bad feeling, like maybe Indy is cursed now.
haunted by the souls of the men who lost their lives in the kamikaze attack. But then his good friend, Santos Peña, snaps him out of it by rubbing his head. Look alive, Harpo. Harpo got his nickname because of his curly hair, which reminds his friends of the actor Harpo Marx. He laughs as Santos turns to the other sailors. There's still time, guys. Why don't we go get breakfast?
None of them are in a big hurry to get back on board Indy. They're nervous to ship out again, but Harpo hates showing any sort of fear. Instead, he calls out to everyone. Nah, man, no breakfast is going to hide your hangover. Harpo leads the way, hustling up the gangway onto the deck. The others follow. As he steps aboard Indy again, he clutches the St. Anthony medal hanging from his neck, his good luck charm.
Before he goes down to his sleeping quarters, Harpo steals one last look back at the docks and hopes this isn't the last time he'll see American soil. Captain McVeigh sits in the back of a military car as it crawls through morning traffic towards U.S. Naval Headquarters in downtown San Francisco.
He fidgets with his cigarette case, a gift from his wife Louise. He's on his way to meet with the Admiral who will tell him Indy's next mission. He's feeling uneasy about what it might be. He did a full inspection of the ship yesterday. They could have used another month or two for repairs, but she's ready to go back to sea. What he's more concerned about is his crew.
Of the 1,195 men aboard Indy, about 250 of them are brand new, untested. Some of them might not even know how to swim. The Navy has been so desperate for new recruits that experience in the water isn't a prerequisite. Minutes later, McVeigh salutes as he steps into the Admiral's office.
The Admiral gestures for him to sit, then gets right to the point. "Indy is to depart base tomorrow morning, 0900 hours, and proceed to Hunter's Point. There you'll pick up some classified cargo, which you'll bring to Tinian Island. We'll need you to get there as quickly as possible."
McVeigh nods. He knows where Tinian Island is, in the Western Pacific. He estimates the trip should take nine or ten days. This cargo is to be kept under armed guard at all times. It is highly classified. You will not be told what it is. The Admiral leans in to stare at McVeigh. His expression is grim.
If something happens at sea, Captain, your priority is to save this cargo. Even if your men's lives are in danger, you must do everything humanly possible to protect it. I understand, sir. When the meeting is over, McVeigh salutes the Admiral and leaves. Orders are orders, and he'll follow them to the letter. But he can't help wondering what kind of top-secret shipment could be more important than the lives of a thousand men.
Dr. Lewis Haynes walks out onto Indy's bow and looks around. He's confused. It's 2 p.m. on July 16th, 1945, and usually at this time of day, the pier at Hunter's Point Naval Shipyard should be bustling. But for some reason, today it's dead quiet. No dock crews, not even any other ships. Just a few seagulls circling overhead.
In the distance, he sees two army trucks approaching. He leans forward on the railing and pulls out a cigar. He's heard that Indy will be shepherding a top-secret package, and this must be it. He decides he'll stay right here and hopefully get a glimpse of it. Soon, there's a small crowd of sailors lining the bow, watching as the two olive green trucks pull up alongside the ship.
Haynes overhears a couple of enlisted men nearby, debating the truck's contents. I bet it's a bunch of liquor for the officers to toast at the end of the war. Nah, it can't be it. Maybe it's plans for the invasion of Japan. Or even better, scented toilet paper for General MacArthur. Haynes chuckles and takes a puff of his cigar. At least these kinds of guessing games will keep the crew entertained.
Haynes watches as soldiers jump down from the trucks and take up guard positions along the dock. Others dash to the back of the first truck and begin unloading a large wooden crate. It's big, the size of a car. The crane lifts the container onto Indy's deck. A crew of sailors unhooks it from the crane and pushes it into one of the ship's two airplane hangars.
Then, Haynes hears shouts from the dock. He looks down to see two army officers accompanying a second package. Two sailors carry it up the gangway onto the ship. This package is smaller, just two black metal canisters, each about the size of a diver's air tank, suspended from a long metal pole. From the way the sailors are straining to carry them, they must be made of solid lead or something just as heavy.
One of the sailors stumbles a little under the weight, and the army officers bark at him to be careful. From their body language, the officers look nervous. Really nervous. Haynes stubs out his cigar and wonders, what the hell are they carrying? Shhh!
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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. Captain McVeigh stands on the deck of Indy for the first time in 10 days. He's finally relaxed. It's July 26th, 1945, and the ship has made it to Tinian Island, 1,600 miles east of the Philippines. The top-secret cargo is being offloaded and will be officially out of his care within minutes.
Indy made it here from San Francisco in near record time. Any worry McVeigh had about the ship's condition has been erased. McVeigh watches as the wooden crate and metal canisters are loaded onto two large landing craft. He's heard the rumors that they came all this way to deliver an admiral's car or liquor or food. He doesn't believe that.
He's pretty convinced it's a weapon of some sort. There's no other explanation for some of the strange requests of the army officers who accompanied the cargo, like demanding that the canisters be bolted to the deck. But all that matters to McVeigh now is that this mission has been completed, which means he can get Indy back out to sea, back to the war. He heads to the bridge and addresses his communications officer. "Your men decrypt those new orders yet?"
Yes, sir. We're to report to the port director for routing to Guam. Guam is an island 120 miles south of Tinian. That's where McVeigh will find out exactly what the ship's next role in the war will be.
The next day, McVeigh hovers over a large chart called a plotting board with the routing officer for Naval Operating Base Guam. The officer is plotting Indy's path along an 1,100-mile route from Guam to another U.S. base of operations in the Philippines, straight through the Philippine Sea. There, he'll be able to put his crew through some much-needed gunnery practice and other training exercises.
McVeigh watches as the routing officer double-checks the distance, then does some quick calculations. You can get there in three days if you do 15.7 knots. That should be fine. We could go faster, but I'd prefer to run at a lower speed to reduce wear on the engines. Can we have an escort?
Indy doesn't have sonar, so it can't detect enemy submarines. Normal procedure would be to have another ship with sonar accompany her, but the routing officer shakes his head. I've been told you won't need one. You'll be well behind the forward area on this route.
The forward area is the combat zone, so officially, the route Indy is taking has been designated as safe. McVeigh doesn't like the idea of Indy traveling alone, but he knows that sometimes escorts aren't available and he has to accept the risk. McVeigh thanks the officer for the route and heads back up to his ship. He wants to get some shut-eye before Indy sets out in the morning. ♪♪
Japanese Lieutenant Commander Mochitsura Hashimoto wakes up in his cabin with a start. A junior officer stands over him and sheepishly points to his watch. It's 10.30pm on July 29th, the exact time Hashimoto had requested to be woken up. The junior officer leaves and Hashimoto puts on his uniform, then steps into the main passageway of his I-58 submarine.
The sub's innards are hot and dank. The stale air smells of pickled fish from the galley, diesel fuel, and sewage. The 37-year-old Hashimoto has been in charge of the sub for the last two years, and though it's a little beat up, he's proud of what it can still do.
The same goes for his country and its military. Hashimoto and his entire crew know that Japan is about to lose this war, but they are continuing the fight until they're told otherwise. He stops at the submarine's small shrine to pray, then steps into the control room. He greets the crew and asks for updates. No enemy nearby, nothing major to report. Hashimoto sighs. It's been this way for weeks.
He calls out his orders. Raise night periscope. They raise the periscope just above the surface of the water. Hashimoto climbs up into the conning tower, peers into the periscope's eyepiece, and scans the horizon. A nearly full moon peeks out between the clouds, casting dim light on an empty sea. Not a ship in sight. Surface. Blow main ballast.
As the sub surfaces, his ears pop. Hashimoto is still looking through the periscope when his navigator shouts, "Bearing red, nine zero degrees. A possible enemy ship." Hashimoto bounds up the ladder that leads outside to the bridge. He opens the hatch, climbs up, and raises a pair of binoculars. Sure enough, there's a black spot on the horizon. Hashimoto's heart starts racing. He yells down to his crew, "Dive!"
Hashimoto slides down the ladder back into the control room. A crewman behind him pulls the hatch closed and spins the crank that seals it. Hashimoto rushes back to the periscope. The black spot is still there, getting closer. Ship in sight. All tubes to the ready. Stand by. As the sub descends below the surface and his crew prepares their torpedoes, Hashimoto tries to hide his nerves. Since becoming a submarine commander,
He's only managed to sink two minor vessels. Now, he has what looks like a big ship in his sights. If it's an American destroyer or cruiser, this could be the major prize he's longed for. On the other hand, if the ship has detected their presence, he could be leading his crew towards their deaths.
Either way, Hashimoto has no choice but to do his duty, so he keeps his eyes glued to the periscope, waiting until the ship is in range of his torpedoes and he can give the order to strike. Captain McVeigh stands just outside Indy's bridge, studying the night sky. There's supposed to be a moon tonight, but heavy cloud cover has made it pitch black. They've been at sea for two days and, aside from some choppy water, they've had no problems.
They're right on schedule to reach the Philippines by July 31st. It's a hot night and McVeigh is sweating. He wishes he could just get out of his uniform, but there's still more to do before turning in for the night. He steps back inside to go over his evening orders one more time. He turns to his executive officer, Commander Joe Flynn, known as Red after the color of his hair. - Red, what's our speed?
"17 knots. I want to make up a little lost time after all the zigzagging today." McVeigh nods. Indy's been zigzagging through most of the day, sailing left and right, back and forth. It's a maneuver meant to confuse any enemy subs they might encounter. But now that it's dark, when there's less risk of them being spotted, they're charting a straight course. It's standard procedure. Before McVeigh leaves the bridge, the navigator speaks up. "Just wanted to confirm, sir. No zigzagging tonight."
Correct? Yes, it's a dark night and things are quiet. Let's maintain base course. Aye, aye, sir. They exchange salutes, and McVeigh heads to his quarters behind the bridge. He can't wait for a good night's sleep. Lieutenant Commander Hashimoto stares through his periscope, and as he does so, an exhilarating thought forms in his mind. We've got her.
It's almost midnight. 27 minutes have passed since he and his crew first spotted a possible enemy ship. His I-58 submarine is now close enough that he can tell what it is. An American cruiser. A big one. At least 10,000 tons. He calls out instructions to his crew. "Stand by for attack." Hashimoto's crew prepares the torpedoes as they close in. 2,500 yards.
Hashimoto wipes the sweat off his brow. "Standby." 2,000 yards. He can sense the tension and excitement shared by the entire crew. "Standby." 1,500 yards. Striking distance. "Fire!" Hashimoto stares through the periscope as six torpedoes are fired off in a fan-like spread about two seconds between each launch. He's been waiting for a moment like this his entire career.
As the torpedoes make their way towards the target, every passing second seems like an eternity. An explosion seems to go off right beneath Captain McVeigh's bunk. He jolts awake to find himself airborne, knocked across his quarters by the blast. McVeigh hits the deck with a thud, ears ringing, dazed. Then, a second, even louder explosion rocks him and the entire ship.
He staggers to his feet, his mind running through all the possibilities. Another kamikaze plane? No, this is something else. A torpedo? The lights are out, but he can tell that the entire cabin is filling with smoke. It's hard to breathe. He's stark naked, but he doesn't have any time to put on his uniform. He needs to know what hit Indy. He feels his way out of his quarters and on to the lightless bridge. It's pitch black. All the instruments are dark.
The power must have been taken out with the blasts. He can just make out the outlines of about a dozen men. He calls out the name of the officer of the deck, hoping he's one of them. Lieutenant Orr, do you have any reports? No, sir. I've lost all communications. Everything appears to be down. What was it? We can't tell yet, sir. Felt like torpedoes to me. Maybe two blasts? Any idea what the damage is? No idea, sir.
The floor beneath McVeigh is tilting under his feet. He's afraid that if the damage is at the front of the ship and it's still moving forward, it's going to take in water, leading it to sink. Engines? We sent a message to shut them down, but we don't know if it went through. What about a distress signal? Not sure, sir. I sent a man down to the radio room with orders to send one out. Hopefully he'll report back soon.
McVeigh knows that in a worst-case scenario, he'll need someone from the Philippines or Guam to come and help them. But there's no telling whether their radios are still working. Let's hope it goes through. Good work, everyone. Now, let's see if we can assess the damage and find out if we're still under attack. McVeigh runs back to his quarters to get dressed. After that, he'll find out exactly what he needs to do to save his ship.
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and weathered injured in a crewman. He grabs the lifejacket hanging on the back of the door. He sees a framed photo of his wife on the floor, now cracked, and is about to reach for it when he hears screaming outside. Haynes can barely see anything. The entire passageway is dark and filled with smoke, and he's hit with a horrible smell. It takes him a second to realize it's burning flesh.
He rushes through the smoke-filled passageway and runs into a young sailor, someone he treated last week. The man looks over Haines' shoulder with panic and yells atop his lungs. "Look out!" Instinctively, Haines dives to the floor, covering his face. A wall of flames, a flash fire, rips through the hall and then dissipates. Haines' face now hurts like hell.
He puts his hand up to it and feels that his forehead is singed with what feels like third-degree burns. He looks around for the panicked sailor, but he's gone. Ignoring his pain, Haynes continues towards the officer's wardroom and beyond that, the ladder that leads to his battle station on the quarterdeck.
But as he feels his way along the hot bulkhead walls, he's overcome with dizziness. He knows he's breathing in toxic fumes. He can see the gray paint bubbling as it burns off the bulkheads. He stumbles, loses his balance, and falls to the floor. He can't move. The pain emanating from his burnt skin is unbearable. He knows that getting up will cause even more pain. So why not just stay put?
And then, something falls on top of him. It's another officer. Instantly, Haynes knows the man is dead. His skin is almost completely burned off. He thinks of his children back in Connecticut. His wife Elizabeth, their unborn child. He'll never see them again unless he gets up.
With a scream, he pushes the body off of him and gets to his feet. He needs to get topside, away from the fire and death and smell of burning flesh, and also to figure out how he can help. He's trained to save lives, and tonight his hands will be full. Harpo Celaya runs across Indy's quarterdeck. His face stings. His hair and eyelashes have been burned off, but at least he's alive.
He looks around him. A moment ago, the deck was covered with sleeping men. Now, a lot of them are dead, and the rest are injured and stumbling around in the darkness. It's chaos.
Harpo rushes towards the stern of the ship, passing hundreds of men scurrying in all directions. He sees some of them wearing life jackets and realizes he doesn't have those. The entire ship starts to tilt to one side. Harpo falls, banging his head on the deck. He's dizzy, but he isn't sure whether it's from the fall or Indy listing under him. He sees some men freaking out and jumping over the edge of the ship. Does that mean they're sinking?
He decides he needs to get to his locker below. To get his lifejacket, he takes off running back towards the bow of the ship where his quarters are. But on his way there, he nearly collides head-on with another sailor. It's his friend, Santos Peña. Harpo! Where the hell do you think you're going? My locker! I gotta get my lifejacket! Your locker's gone! We got hit by a torpedo! It tore off the whole bow of the ship! What? Are you sure?
I saw it with my own eyes. Indy's going down, Harpo. We need to abandon ship. Harpo looks around. The ship is still listing underneath their feet. A few more degrees and they'll have trouble staying upright. He knows Peña is right. Indy is sinking, but he doesn't want to believe it. Has the captain given the order? Look around, Harpo. There's no lights. There's no power. No comms. There's no way to know if he has.
Harpo pauses, tries to focus. Normally an order to abandon ship would be blasted through Indy's public address system, but except for the shouts of the men and the rumble of the flames, it's eerily quiet. No roar of the ship's fans or crackle of loudspeakers. Harpo realizes no order is coming. They'll have to decide on their own whether to abandon ship.
He looks at Santos, who's pale as a ghost, but he reaches out a trembling hand and ruffles Harpo's hair. "Come on, we'll jump together." Harpo nods and follows Santos to the edge of the ship. He looks down at the water, or at least where he thinks the water is. It's too dark to see anything.
He tries to remember how far above the water line Indy's main deck is. A couple of stories maybe? He looks back at Santos and realizes he has to be brave for his friend. On the count of three, ready? One, two, three. Harpo closes his eyes, steals himself, and on three, he jumps. Captain McVeigh, now dressed, rushes back to the bridge and asks for an update.
An officer steps up to address McVeigh as another helps him into a canvas life vest. The young officer is cool and professional, but underneath it, McVeigh can sense his dread. Sir, we're going down rapidly by the head. McVeigh nods. He knows the torpedoes damaged their bow, though he's still not sure how much. From up here on the bridge, he can't see that far into the darkness. They're clearly taking on some water.
But by his estimate, the ship has only tilted about three degrees to starboard at this point. That's not a fatal list. Sir, should we abandon ship? McVeigh is thrown off by this question. Abandoning ship is the absolute last resort. No, no, not yet. He turns to the communication officer. See if you can raise the engine room. Get them to cut all power to the screws.
The screws are the powerful underwater propellers that drive the ship forward. If they can shut them down and stop Indy's forward motion, the ship might stop taking on water and stay afloat. The communications officer puts on his headphones and tries to radio the engine room, but he turns to McVeigh and shakes his head. It's still out. The entire bridge jolts to the right. The ship is listing more sharply now. McVeigh grabs onto the bulkhead so he doesn't fall.
An officer drags himself into the bridge, breathing hard. It's Commander Joe Flynn, the executive officer. He looks at McVeigh with alarm in his eyes. Sir, I've just come from below deck. The damage... the damage is serious. I recommend that we abandon ship immediately.
McVeigh looks around. In just minutes, Indy's list has gone from 3 degrees to almost 20 at this angle, and still taking on water from her damaged bow. She could keel over completely at any moment. The reality hits him like a gut punch. Indy is doomed. McVeigh looks out onto the deck. It's so dark he can't see anything, but he can hear the screams in the distance. He can only imagine what his men are going through.
Sir, what shall we do? McVeigh pauses, takes a breath. Abandon ship. Go make the announcement. McVeigh's communications officer looks at him, wide-eyed. I can't, sir. The comms are still down. Then go out there and start yelling. Spread the word. Go! The officers rush out, leaving McVeigh there to think things through.
He tries to assess the situation. Indy has more than enough life-saving equipment for every man on board. Life jackets, rafts, floating nets. But with the ship going down so fast, how much of that equipment will make it into the water? They're at least 300 miles from the nearest land. Too far to swim or to sail in a life raft. They'll have to wait for rescue. And there's no telling when that'll be. Especially if they weren't able to get out a distress signal.
He takes one last look at the bridge. It's been his home for the past year. He thinks of that night in San Francisco, the promise he made to his wife, that he would be careful as he steps into the darkness outside. McVeigh realizes that promise is about to be broken. This is episode one of our four-part series, USS Indianapolis, Disaster at Sea.
A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the book Indianapolis, the true story of the worst sea disaster in U.S. naval history and the 50-year fight to exonerate an innocent man by Lynn Vincent and Sarah Vladek.
I'm your host, Mike Corey. Anthony DelCole wrote this episode. Our editor is Sean Raviv. Additional editing by Matt Almos. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Sound design is by Joe Richardson. Produced by Emily Frost. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jentz and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Wondery.
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